


A Silver Moon

by Dorkangel



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - A Paper Moon, Body Image, Crossover, Emma is a bitch, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Father, Erik is a conman, Multi, Oh and the Summers Brothers are not nice, PETER YOU LITTLE SHIT, Poor Azazel, Poor Janos, this is happy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Maximoff's mother just died, and who should the old ladies at his funeral dump him on?<br/>Erik Lehnsherr, of course. He doesn't know how to look after an eight year old!<br/>'Just take him to the train station,' they said. 'It'll be easy', they said.  But, conman as Erik may be, this kid is a devious, evil little troublemaker, and he won't leave until Erik pays him back the two hundred dollars he owes him.<br/>And Peter, I ain't yer dad! Quit asking!</p><p>Oh hi Charles, what are you doing in this universe?</p><p>(Based on the movie 'A Paper Moon', although you don't have to have seen that to understand this)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Silver Moon

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on LiveJournal:
> 
> I just re-watched the movie Paper Moon and it gave me serious Dadneto thoughts. How about a powered AU in which Erik is the con artist and Peter/Pietro is the kid (who may or may not be Erik's kid - "quit asking, will ya! Just because I met Magda in a bar...") The existence of mutants could either be widespread knowledge or else a secret advantage Erik & Peter use in their scams.
> 
> Bonus points if you revise the story so they run into Charles at some point. Maybe he has been running scams of his own?
> 
> Really, I just want to see a lot of exasperated Dadneto shenanigans.
> 
>  

The boy stood by his mother's grave, wanting to run away. He was so sad, and he usually ran away from what made him sad, but this was going to be the last time he'd see her. Even if she was in a box.  
As the boy watched, one of the men holding the ropes that lowered the coffin slipped, and the last thing he had of his mother almost crashed down ungracefully into the earth. But it didn't.  
The metal fixing on the side seemed suddenly to stiffen and take the job of holding up the coffin by itself.  
The boy gasped in surprise and looked around him, but no one else appeared to have noticed. Confused, the boy looked right over his shoulder, to notice a man standing behind him, one hand subtly outstretched and the fingers splayed.  
The man held the first finger of his spare hand up to his lips and winked, sort of sadly. The boy's dark eyes regarded him carefully for a moment, and then he turned back around to watch the coffin continue its descent into the dirt.  
The man, in turn, watched the boy. He had silver hair, which was surely unusual on a boy of maybe eight or nine, and eyes that were a deep, deep brown, almost black. He was wearing blue jean dungarees.  
The man himself had lightish brown hair and greyish eyes, and he was very tall. He wore a long coat and a hat over a suit, and his face, although he made an effort for the boy, was inherently grave. Even when he was not at the funeral of someone he had known well.  
When the burial was done, the boy was led aside by a group of concerned looking old ladies and fussed over. The man spared him a glance, grabbed some flowers from the grave next door and laid them beside the woman's headstone, whispering "You talk your way into heaven on my behalf, liebling" then began to walk away, but he was interrupted by one of the aforementioned old ladies.  
"Excuse me, Mr...?,"  
"Lehnsherr. Erik Lehnsherr."  
"Mr. Lehnsherr. You weren't related to Miss Maximoff, were you?"  
"No," he said, his voice gravelly. "Just a friend. I knew Magda very well."  
"Were you aware that she had a son?"  
He hesitated. "In the last few years we didn't talk much. And I'm sorry, but I have a train to catch, I have to get back to Westchester in New York-"  
"Well, that's fantastic! The child needs to be put on a train, sir, and we can't find anyone willing to take him to the station. He's got to go and live with his aunt."  
Erik looked around for an escape route. "I really can't, and besides, I'm not so great with kids-"  
"Please sir," said the woman. "He's got nowhere else to go."  
Erik shook his head. "I'm only a friend of his mother."  
She glanced back over to the boy, who was rigid and unsmiling among the well-meaning grannies, fists clenched and gaze firmly on the floor.  
"If ever a child needed a friend," she said quietly. "It's now."  
Erik's gaze softened for a moment. "Well... alright. But only to the station, then he can go off with his aunt or whatever."  
The woman smiled gratefully at him and led him over to where the boy was standing, by now looking slightly intimated by the swarm of old ladies.  
Erik took his hat off politely, unaware of the fact that he looked just as scared as the little boy.  
"Peter," said the woman, and Erik suddenly realised that before that moment he hadn't even known the name of Magda's son. "Peter, this is Mr. Lehnsherr. He'll be giving you a lift to the train station."  
Peter looked a little nervous, but smiled hesitantly. He recognised Erik as the man who rescued his mother's coffin.  
"Say hello, Peter."  
The boy smirked. "Hello, Peter."  
The woman twittered huffily and wandered off, leaving him with Erik.  
"How did you know my mother?" asked the boy eventually, a frown creasing his little face.  
"I... I met her in a bar."  
The boy's eyes narrowed. "You my daddy?"  
"What?! No!"  
He didn't seem convinced.  
"Peter- Why would you think I was your dad?"  
"You sorta look like me."  
"No, I don't!"  
"You're a mutant too."  
"I'm not- wait, you're a mutant?"  
Peter nodded.  
"What can you do?"  
He shrugged shyly and Erik was reminded of the fact that the boy was eight and he'd only just met him.  
"Alright, doesn't matter. Come on."  
The kid crossed his arms and ran after Erik to keep up with his huge steps.  
"You sure?"  
"Yes, I'm sure!"  
"You met her in a bar."  
"Don't mean I'm your daddy."  
For a moment little Peter struggled along at Erik's pace silently. Then he spoke again. "Can't I go get my stuff?"  
Erik swore under his breath. "Yeah, sure. Sorry. Of course you can."  
Peter nodded and hurried off in the other direction. Erik turned his back, staring at the sky for a second, and when he looked around again, there was Peter, holding two small bags. He jumped. Surely the kid couldn't have run over to someone's car, opened it by himself, lugged the stuff out and run back again in the space of a few seconds?  
"That was fast." he said carefully. Peter grinned.  
"Yeah."  
"Alright. Into the car."

For a couple of minutes they rode in silence. Then Peter piped up again.  
"You knew my mom well?"  
"Yes," said Erik, sort of reluctantly. "Quite well. Listen, I'm going to stop here, and you're going to come with me and not say a word. Understand?"  
"Why?"  
"Just trust me, ok?"  
The boy shrugged. "Ok."  
They got out and Erik led the way into a little hut on the side of the road. He knocked and, without waiting for an answer, went inside, pushing a very confused Peter in front of him. "Good mornings, Mr. Lehnsherr," said what was unmistakably a Russain voice, and a man with bright red skin, a scar over his eye, a tail, black hair and a goatee appeared from the back of the shop. Peter gasped sharply and hid behind Erik's legs.  
"What business brings you here, comrade?"  
"Azazel." said Erik in greeting, taking his hat off. "I just wanted to introduce you to someone." He grabbed Peter from behind and gently pushed him forward. "Tell him your name, kid."  
Peter gulped. "P-Peter, sir."  
"Your proper name."  
"...Pietro?"  
"Full name."  
"P-Pietro Maximoff."  
Azazel nodded. "Privyet." (Hello.)  
"Well done, Peter. Go stand outside now, would you?"  
All too eager to be gone from the presence of a man who - quite frankly - looked like the devil on earth, Peter fled. Once outside, however, he stuck his ear to the keyhole to listen in.  
"What was that, comrade?" laughed Azazel. "You were trying to traumatise the child, or what?"  
"Just wanted you to talk to him. Sweet kid, isn't he?"  
"He looked like all childs when they see me. He wanted to run away and wet the bed, yes?"  
"Well," said Erik. "You must forgive him that. He's rather sad, you see, because his mother just died."  
"What do I care? Two thousand years, Erik. I've seen lots of people die."  
"Peter's mother was Magda Maximoff, Az. I had been hoping you'd recognise the name. She died after your Mr. Schmidt got annoyed with her, and unfortunately, I know that. And I've got more than half a mind to- well, a) take it up with the police, or b) take it up with Mr. Schmidt, and if I take it up with Mr. Schmidt, he won't be walking out of there alive, because I knew Magda very well and her death wasn't something that exactly amused me."  
Azazel's tail twitched nervously from side to side, like a cat's. "So? What do you want me to do?"  
"Unless you want to find someone else who'll hire a demon like you, Az, I think we're looking at a couple of thousand... for the boy, you understand."  
"A couple of thousand?! I have two hundred dollars in the back."  
The was a pregnant pause.  
"Two hundred sounds good."  
Hearing footsteps, Peter sped away from the door and back into the car. Erik joined him and started the engine again.  
"The train doesn't go for another three hours. Are you hungry?"  
Peter shrugged. "I guess."  
Erik exhaled thoughtfully. "I'm kind of busy. We'll go fix us this car, buy lunch, and then I'll put you on the train, ok?"  
Peter didn't reply, staring straight ahead. Erik inwardly wondered if the kid was alright, but didn't bring it up. After all, his mother's funeral had been less than an hour ago.

They sat down next to the window in a cafe right in the middle of the street. Peter stared at his food and didn't eat it, and eventually Erik said something about it.  
"Come on. Eat your hotdog."  
The boy looked up at him and spoke slowly and quietly, his words oddly measured for such a small kid. "My mom didn't get killed by no guy called Schmidt."  
At Erik's surprised look, he continued. "I heard you and the red man talking through the door. She got sick. She didn't get killed by no guy called Schmidt."  
"No." replied Erik. "No, she didn't."  
"Then why'd you say she did?"  
"To get the money from the man. Besides, you don't know Schmidt. He'd the kind of guy who'd do that."  
"Alright. If you told him that for the money, give me it."  
"What?"  
"Give me my two hundred dollars."  
"It's not yours!"  
Peter pushed his hotdog aside and leaned over the table. "You told that man that you needed the money for me."  
"Yeah, well, that was a lie."  
"You give me my two hundred dollars or I'll go to a policeman and tell him everything you said to that man. That's my money."  
"It is not!"  
"Unless you're my daddy. Then that'd be different. But you're not."  
"No, I'm not."  
Peter paused for a moment. "We've got the same jaw."  
"Doesn't mean we're related. I know a woman who looks like a bullfrog, doesn't mean she's one's mother."  
"You met my mom in a bar."  
"Just because a man and a woman meet in a bar, doesn't mean they have a baby!"  
"It's possible."  
"It's not."  
"Alright then, give me my two hundred dollars!"  
A few heads turned and Erik glanced around, concerned. "Keep your voice down and listen. I haven't got that damn two hundred dollars. I spent it on the car and the food and your train ticket."  
"Then GET it."  
The two of them scowled at each fiercely, Erik forgetting for a moment that this wasn't one of his actual enemies, just a - admittedly, EVIL - little kid.  
A waitress, whose bad timing was rather fantastic, arrived over at their table.  
"Aren't you going to eat that hotdog, sweetheart?"  
Peter just blinked and kept up his optical offence on Erik, so the waitress turned to the older man. "What about dessert? If he finishes his hotdog, are you going to buy dessert for your son?"  
"He's not my son." growled Erik. "And, no. We're leaving."

They climbed back into the car, Peter crossing his arms over his chest again, Erik silently fuming.  
"So," said the boy, and Erik boiled over.  
"Aren't you ever quiet?!"  
Peter shrunk slightly in the seat, cowed. "No."  
"I didn't think so. God, you're going to drive me nuts, aren't you?"  
"You don't like me, do you?" The words were oddly shrewd for his little kid-ish drawl, but Erik didn't lie to him.  
"No, I don't like you."  
"...ok."  
There was silence again for a moment.  
"So," said Peter again, and Erik rolled his eyes. "You said you were going to kill that Schmidt guy that didn't kill my mom but you said did."  
"In English?"  
"You said you were going to kill him."  
"Yes."  
"How? Have you got a gun? Do you know karate? You know karate, man?"  
"No. But I know crazy."  
Peter burst out laughing, and Erik rolled his eyes.  
Little kids were, it seemed, easily amused.

Eventually they pulled up by a house and Erik picked up a newspaper from the back seat, checking the obituaries.  
"Right," he said. "I guess you won't be taking the train for a couple of days after all, but this is how I'm going to make us money, so you just lie down in the seat. People don't want to see kids interfering with business."  
Peter's eyes narrowed. "...alright."  
Erik got out and went over to the boot, picking up a small box. He then walked over to the door and knocked and straightened his hair under his hat.  
It was opened by a young woman with straight brown hair.  
"Hello?"  
"Good morning ma'am." said Erik, flashing her a particularly wide grin that Peter had never seen before. He looked like a shark.  
"My name is Erik Magnus, I work for the Kansas Bible Company. I'm looking for Mr. MacTaggart?"  
"I'm sorry," said the woman. "Mr. MacTaggart died last week."  
Back in the car, Peter picked up the newspaper, reading a paragraph that Erik had circled.  
'Thomas MacTaggart, age 73. Date of death: 7th May. Survived by his daughter, Moira.'  
Erik continued speaking. "Oh, my condolences, ma'am. I was speaking to him not a month ago."  
Peter climbed into the back and opened the case he'd seen in there. There were boxes and boxes of cheaply printed bibles.  
"Anyway, Mr. MacTaggart ordered this bible before he died. Deluxe edition, printed with a woman's name in real gold."  
"Well, what name is it?"  
Peter picked up a stamp that had been resting in a pot of tacky looking gold paint. It was ordered with the letters M, O, I, R, A.  
"Moira. Does that mean anything to you?"  
The woman gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm Moira!"  
Peter rolled his eyes. It was the most obvious con ever; even his mom had come up with cleverer ones. As he watched Erik explain how much the bible was going to cost her, however, he noticed something else. With the hand he held behind his back, Erik was using his ability to get all the spare change in the woman's house to jump out of her window and roll down the path into the car. Peter grinned. Now that was clever.  
The woman handed over another eight dollars for the bible, and Erik smiled at her and walked off.  
With most of her money in his car.  
Not wanting Erik to know he'd been snooping around, Peter scrambled back into the front and sat down, a smirk shining out below his silver hair.  
Erik sat down and started the car, sending Peter a suspicious glare.  
"What are you smiling at?"  
"You were real clever, getting the money off that woman."  
Erik's eyebrows raised at the thought of Peter recognising his con, but otherwise didn't react.  
"Only I was wondering, why'd you tell her your name was Magnus?"  
"Because I didn't want her to come after me once she noticed the falsity of that bible of hers, and once she started wondering where all her money had gone. Look, this is the next place. Same procedure: you stay in here and stay quiet."  
Peter grinned in a way that suggested he was going to ignore everything Erik said.  
"Yessir."  
Erik sent him a warning glare. "...good."  
Peter checked the next obituary. "It's Mr. Tolanski next."  
"Yes. I know."  
He walked over to the door and knocked, straightening his hair again. A woman with blonde hair opened the door and he smiled wide and Peter laughed.  
"Great. White. Shark." he chanted under his breath, which was exactly what Erik looked like when he smiled like that.  
"Is Mr. Tolanski here?"  
"No, I'm afraid Mr. Tolanski died on Tuesday."  
"I'm sorry to hear that. My name is Erik Magnus, I'm from the Kansas bible company. See, before Mr. Tolanski died he ordered this here bible, deluxe edition-"  
He was interrupted by a very, very tall man with long blonde hair coming to the door. "Who're you talking to, Raven?"  
"This man says Todd bought a bible."  
"Why the hell would Todd buy a bible?"  
Erik began to panic slightly. "I'm sure I wouldn't know, sir. I'll just take it back-"  
Peter was good at recognising trouble. He could spot a fight about to happen from a mile off, and the man who had answered the door was definitely looking to go for Erik.  
He jumped up and sped around the side of the house, jumping through the window before they had any chance to notice him. You see, Peter's mutation was his speed. The amount of time it took him took him to clamber through someone's window and jog around their house was about equivalent to the amount of time it would take a normal person to blink. Literally, he averaged about five miles a second.  
After picking up all the money he could find and knocking over a load of their stuff in the process, he ran back to the car - anyone watching would maybe, if they had sharp eyes, have seen a silvery blur - and stuck his head out of the window.  
"Daddy," he called, deliberately putting on a more childish voice. "Are you done? We need to go to church to pray for Mommy."  
He opened the door and walked over to Erik, pressing his palms together like he'd seen angel statues and nuns do.  
Erik smiled, relieved, as he realised what Peter was doing, and put a hand around the kid's shoulders.  
"This is my son, I'm sorry if he's interrupting. It's just us two now."  
"Mommy's gone to heaven. I'm Peter." supplied Peter helpfully. "Peter Magnus."  
The last word was pointed, and he felt Erik's hand tighten slightly on his shoulder in confirmation that the older man knew what he was up to.  
"Can we go now, Daddy?"  
"Yeah, sure. I'll just take this bible back to the shop, although I guess it'll be hard to find another woman named Raven-"  
"What?"  
"Well, Mr. Tolanski ordered the deluxe edition, with a woman's name printed on the inside."  
The blonde woman leaned forward, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "It's ok," she said. "I'll pay for it, although I don't know why Todd would have ordered a bible for me."  
Peter smiled angelically at the woman and she pulled a purse from her pocket, handing over eight dollars.  
"There you go. Hey, Sabretooth!" she yelled, noticing how close the blonde man still was to Erik. "Come inside."  
He growled, baring his teeth, and Erik could suddenly see why she called him 'Sabretooth'. "Bye!" called Peter in the naive way that small children do when they have no idea how much trouble they've caused.  
Erik half-pushed Peter into the car and drove off in a manner only slightly reminiscent of terrified running away.  
There were another few minutes of silent fuming from Erik, which Peter was beginning to get used to, and them the inevitable outburst.  
"What the hell were you doing?! You could have got hurt!"  
Peter scowled defensively, his high, childish voice counterbalancing his words. "Why do you care?"  
"Because I'm not a heartless monster and I don't want an eight year old to get beat up!"  
"Yeah, right."  
"And also, your mother would probably come back from the dead and yell at me if I let you get hurt."  
Peter smiled reluctantly. "Yeah, she would. You knew her pretty good, then?"  
"Why'd you keep asking that? Yes, I knew her well enough to know that you should be proud of all the things she did. And if that little show was anything to go by, you picked up a few tricks from her, didn't you?"  
Peter shrugged and Erik sighed.  
"It's a shame I only got the bible score from those two. They looked like they'd leave money lying around."  
"They did."  
"Huh? How would you know?"  
Peter reached around into the back and picked up the bag Erik kept his money in, opening it to show all the stuff he'd stolen.  
"What?! How the hell did you get that?"  
"It's my power. I can move real fast, when I want to."  
Erik blinked, impressed. "That's great. That'll help, actually. To get the money back, I mean."  
Peter grinned. "Awesome."

They stopped at a motel that night, Erik lying with a load of blankets on the floor while Peter took the bed.  
The kid wouldn't stop bouncing on it, god damn it. It wasn't like he was actually planning to sleep.  
"Can I have coffee?" asked Peter mid-bounce, and Erik sighed into his pillow, exasperated.  
"No, you can not have coffee. You're hyper enough without it."  
"But I don't like sleeping."  
"So that's what this is about." Erik muttered, but Peter didn't hear him.  
"It's my ability. When I can move that fast, staying still is so boring."  
"Tough. Go to sleep, kid."  
"No."  
"Yes."  
"No."  
"Peter, go to sleep."  
"No. You aren't my dad, you can't make me do anything."  
"Damn right I'm not your dad, but go to sleep. And quit asking, will you?!"  
"...We've got the same jaw."  
"Lots of people have got the same jaw. Sleep. Now."  
"You told those people you sold the bible to that I was your son."  
"That was a lie. Again. Besides, you started it."  
"What?  
"You shouted 'Dad'."  
"Oh, yeah."  
"I was just playing along. Now please Peter, go to sleep."  
The boy hesitated.  
"Ok."  
Satisfied that at least one of them was going to get a few hours sleep, Erik turned over and dropped off.  
Peter did not.  
He sat up in bed, his dark eyes staring into the wall opposite, never staying still for more than a moment. The eyes are, after all, the windows to the soul.  
Eventually he climbed out of bed and picked up a little steel lunch box he had taken with him from his house, padding gently past Erik so as not to wake him up. He went to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft little click, and jumped up to reach the light switch.  
Out of the lunchbox he brought some photos. They were of his mom - he was in some of then, but he just stood there in his dungarees, fists balled and staring straight into the camera, whereas his mom was dressed prettily in every one, laughing or smiling or standing with her hands on her hips.  
Peter frowned at the mirror and put his hands on his hips. It didn't look the same... maybe you had to be a girl.  
What really bothered him though was the hair. The photos were black and white, so it was kind of hard to tell, but his mom had red hair. Peter had silver hair; not like an old man, but shot through with streaks of blue, easily recognisable from a long way away. In the photos it caught the light so it was shining; he didn't even look normal in black and white.  
It was too long as well. His mom hasn't wanted him to cut it, so he hadn't, but he'd been called a girl before. He wasn't a girl. He wasn't girly at all. With a final scowl at his reflection, he shoved the photos back in the lunchbox, climbed on the toilet to turn off the light, opened the door only a crack so it didn't creak, clicked it shut, padded back over to his bed, burrowed under the covers and screwed shut his eyes.

The next day was spent doing what Erik referred to as 'business' and Peter referred to as 'nickin' stuff'.  
The first house they stopped at was, like most of the others, in the middle of nowhere, but it was well built and newly painted and generally looked nice. Peter and Erik stood and smiled together with equally disturbing grins - Erik with the aforementioned shark face, Peter with something so unbelievably smug and mischievous that Erik automatically checked for his wallet - and their hands clasped neatly, Erik holding his hat.  
The door was opened by a young woman with brown hair (for some reason streaked with white at the front) wearing a rich dress, silk gloves and a real pearl necklace, and Peter and Erik both suppressed an identical smirk at the thought of the kind of things she might leave lying around in her house, unsuspecting of metallo-kinetics and speedsters with light fingers.  
"Hello ma'am, my name is Erik Magnus, of the Kansas bible company, and this is my son, Peter. Is Mr. Howlett here?"  
"No, I'm afraid Logan died last week. He should be back soon though."  
They exchanged a look, but Erik continued, undaunted.  
"Well, before he died, Miss...?"  
"Marie."  
" 'Marie', really? Well, isn't that strange-" Erik nudged Peter who, while Marie was distracted, zoomed into the house and started grabbing things. He was back, standing next to Erik, his hair slightly mussed, before he'd even gone more than a syllable.  
"-because before he died, Mr. Howlett ordered this bible, deluxe edition, with a name printed in real gold on the inside. The name 'Marie'."  
She put a gloved hand over her heart, looking shocked.  
"Now of course, you're not obliged to take it-"  
"Of course I am! He ordered the deluxe!"  
She ran off to get her money and Erik smiled a genuine smile, clapping Peter on the back and muttering the word 'jackpot'.  
"How much will it be?" she asked, holding open a dangerously fully looking purse.  
"Well," began Erik slowly. He always charged eight dollars for a bible, seven if the customer looked hesitant. "With the dollar deposit, it comes to-"  
"Twenty-four dollars!" chimed Peter cheerfully, and the woman smiled and, without hesitation, handed over the money. "There you go. And another five dollars for the kid."  
Erik swallowed, surprised, and took the money with another fake smile. "Thank you very much. Come on, Peter."  
Peter grinned and they left.

"Twenty-four dollars for a bible! Jesus kid, are you trying to get me arrested?!"  
"She paid for it, didn't she?"  
"She nearly didn't! And by the sound of it, her husband or whoever he was wasn't dead yet! You want someone coming after me? Well, do you?"  
Peter hunched his shoulders and bowed his head. "...no. Sorry."  
Erik shifted guiltily. "Yeah, well, next time you just steal from the house and I'll do the talking, ok?"

He left Peter sitting by the car, arms folded moodily. This house was rather battered, the paint flaking away, with rusty looking toys scattered outside.  
The door was answered by a tired looking ginger woman with a baby on her arm.  
"Hello?"  
"Hello, my name is Erik Magnus, I'm from the Kansas Bible Company. Is Mr. Cassidy in?"  
The woman was joined by a teenage boy with similar red hair and freckles.  
"No, I'm sorry." she said wearily. "Mr. Cassidy died on Thursday."  
Two smaller children appeared, clinging to the woman's legs.  
"I'm awfully sorry to hear that. I was speaking to him not less than a month ago."  
Peter got up and whizzed past Erik and the woman into the house. He couldn't see anything immediately valuable but, appearing frozen at that speed, there were another four children hanging around, all of them ginger and all of them in much mended clothes. He spotted a pile of pennies and nickels and such over in the corner, and went to pick it up, but dropped it again. He wasn't going to steal from these people.  
He shot back to the car and sat down again, then began walking at a normal pace towards Erik  
"Anyway, before he died, Mr. Cassidy ordered this bible. Deluxe edition, printed with a woman's name on the inside in real-"  
The teenager interrupted him. "Why would Dad waste money on a bible?"  
"Sean, hush."  
Peter came to stand next to Erik.  
"I wouldn't know, but he did. Printed with a woman's name on inside- does Aoife mean anything to you, ma'am?"  
"That's my name."  
"Well, with the dollar deposit-"  
"Don't be silly, Daddy!" interrupted Peter suddenly. "This bible's already paid for!"  
Erik kind of froze and gave Peter a LOOK, but handed over the bible anyway. "Right." he said stiffly. "There you go ma'am. Peter, we're leaving. I need to talk to you in the car."  
Peter just smiled.

"Twenty-four dollars and everything in that first woman's house and then you're giving it away? Did you at least steal the-"  
"Nope." He popped the 'p' cheerfully and Erik swore.  
"Listen kid, that's not how business works."  
"This is never business!"  
"It's my business, and you're doing it wrong."  
"What're you going to do about it?"  
Erik scowled helplessly. "Come on. We'll go get lunch."

They stopped at a very small town, buying sandwiches at the general store. At least, Erik bought sandwiches. Peter wandered off into the back, staring into space.  
The girl working at the counter - her name tag read 'Kitty', although Erik doubted that was actually her name - smiled at them.  
"You thinking about buying a ribbon for your little girl, honey?"  
Peter balled his fists and scowled fiercely.  
"I ain't a girl!" he yelled, then ran out.  
Kitty looked over to Erik apologetically, lost for words.  
"Oh, I'm sorry-"  
Erik rolled his eyes, waving it off. "It's alright. He's just moody. Here, if I give you five ones, could you swap it for a five?"  
"Sure."  
"This wallet's still full. Tell you what, if I give you another five ones, can you give me a ten?"  
"Yeah, fine."  
"Thanks."  
She handed over the ten, Erik leaving swiftly, then hesitated.  
"Wait, five ones for a..."

Erik jogged over to where Peter was sitting miserably on the curb, his chin resting on his hands.  
"Come on. We'll go eat these in the car, shall we?"  
"Do you think I look like a girl?"  
Erik looked a bit surprised at the question, but seemed to realise Peter wouldn't be moving until he answered it. He sat down next to the boy.  
"No, I don't think you look like a girl at all."  
"Then why did that lady think I was?"  
Erik frowned thoughtfully. "It's probably the hair. It is kind of long."  
Peter shook his head angrily. "Can't be. My mom had short hair sometimes, and no one ever called her a boy."  
"Yeah, well, Magda..." Erik broke off. "You do look like a boy, Peter. She probably just thought you were a boyish girl."  
"That means I look like a girlish boy!"  
"No it doesn- Listen, nothing I'm going to say is going to make you believe me, is it?"  
Peter shook his head, tears pricking in his eyes.  
"Alright then. Well, there's a fair just out of town. If you don't mind staying another couple of days with me, we could go there tonight and spend some of that money you liberated from that rich lady with the gloves. Even though we didn't get anything from the house after, I reckon we've got enough."  
Peter smiled despite himself. "Really?"  
"Sure, why not."  
Peter's smile widened. "Ok."

The fair wasn't quite as fun as Erik had made out it would be. It had been at first, anyway, but then Erik spotted something he liked and wouldn't stop looking at it. Peter couldn't understand what was so interesting about an exhibit called 'Amazing Emma, the Diamond Woman', but apparently Erik could and he wasn't old enough to see it.  
Peter bought cotton candy - well, I say bought, I mean swiped from the stall-owner's hand at warp speed - and wandered around until he noticed a booth where you could get your photo taken in a huge crescent moon. It had been painted a beautiful, shining, greyish blue colour. Peter stared at it in absolute awe, much to the amusement of the man running it.  
"Hello there."  
Peter started shyly. "Hi."  
"Are you here with your parents?"  
"No. My dad, I think, but-"  
"Well, if you go get him, I'll take your picture in this here moon. It matches your hair."  
He sped back to Erik, who was standing in line for that 'Amazing Emma' again.  
"Erik, Erik! Please come and get a photo with me!"  
"What?"  
"You can get a photo in this big moon. It's silver, like me."  
Peter was out of breath, excited and beaming, but Erik didn't seem to notice.  
"Not now, kid. I'm busy."  
"You're not, that'll be the fifth time you've seen that!"  
"Peter, I said not now."  
Peter glared at him angrily for a moment, then stormed off the other way, passing the moon again as he did.  
"Hey, kid," called the stall-owner. "I thought you were going to get a photo with your dad?"  
Peter didn't stop moving.  
"He ain't my dad!"

Peter didn't go to sleep that night either. He sat up in bed again and waited for Erik, but the older man didn't come until nearly midnight, at which point he noticed Peter and jumped out of his skin, banging his shin against a coffee table as he did.  
"Shit! Don't you sleep?!"  
Peter didn't reply.  
"What?"  
"I didn't say anything."  
"Oh. Listen, as of tomorrow there'll be a lady and her maid travelling with us."  
Peter frowned. "...ok."  
"She's a proper lady, alright? With a high school diploma and everything!"  
Erik seemed really hyper, jumpy. He was talking rapidly. Peter nodded slowly. "If you say so."  
"Well, I do say so."  
"What's she called?"  
Erik clenched his teeth for a moment. "Miss Frost, Emma Frost."  
"What, do you mean from that show you kept-"  
"Shut up! Yes- no! That's not why she's- She's a proper lady, ok?"  
"Ok."  
"And you better just be quiet tomorrow or talk to her maid or something, because she gets migraines. She told me."  
"Ok."  
"And you'll be sitting in the back too."  
"What?!"  
"No arguments."  
"But I want to sit in the front-"  
"Well, you can't."  
"Why not?"  
"The front is where grown-ups sit, and you're not a grown-up and me and Miss Frost are so you can just as well sit in the back and stay quiet, ok?"  
Peter sighed and spoke quietly, in a tone of voice so betrayed that Erik suddenly felt really guilty.  
"...ok."

Miss Frost - or 'Amazing Emma, the Diamond Woman', whichever you want to call her - turned out to be a calculating looking woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and icy cold blue eyes. Behind her, holding all her cases and bags, was a young man with Latin looks and a bored expression.  
"Erik, darling," she called as greeting, and sent a small, disdainful smile towards Peter, who balled his fists and glared. "I cannot wait to see this car of yours, it sounded simply fantastic. This is Janos, by the way, he's indispensable. He carries my things around, cleans up, that kind of stuff. Doesn't speak, poor thing, but that's alright."  
Janos rolled his eyes in a way that spoke volumes to Peter.  
"He can cook as well, although we'll be stopping in hotels on our little trip... Right, sweetie?"  
Erik smiled adoringly, opening the car door for her. "Sure thing."  
Peter hopped into the back, crossing his arms grumpily, and scowled while Erik got the car started and Janos went over to put Emma's stuff in the boot.  
"Careful with that, honey," she said. "It's fragile, some of it, and valuable." She pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head to over her eyes."All of it."  
Janos smiled cheerfully and proceeded to throw the bags down as roughly as possible, then climbed in next to Peter.  
Erik and Emma immediately began some conversation about how wherever she went, mayors and rich, rich men tried to get here to stay and told her how wonderful she was. As she did, Janos reached for a pen and paper out of his pocket and scrawled something, then handed it to Peter.  
-one time a man tried to smash her head in with a broken bottle-  
Peter grinned as he read it and Emma kept talking. "Of course, they adored me. The owner of the place was ever so nice about my skin, and he said the most lovely things, even when I wasn't in my diamond form."  
Janos took the pad back and wrote something else.  
-she should tell him about the time we got chased out of town by an angry mob and she had to wear my clothes as a disguise-  
Peter laughed, covering his mouth with his hands so he didn't make a noise, and Janos smiled the small but honest smile of those who don't smile very often. Peter checked to make sure that Erik was still engrossed in the conversation - Emma wouldn't pay them any attention anyway - and whispered to Janos "Why can't you speak?"  
There was a little break between the question and the answer as Janos wrote on the pad.  
-I was born like this-  
"Oh. I was born with silver hair, and people always think that's weird. Or call me a girl, because it's too long."  
-you are not a girl-  
Janos hesitated, then wrote on the pad again.  
-you are far too ugly-  
Peter sent him a grateful, smug grin.  
"Thanks!"  
Janos only shrugged.  
In the front, Emma started talking again.  
"Oh, I have the most awful migraine coming on. It's-" She gasped delicately, pressing her fingers to her temples, and all of a sudden, her skin turned as clear as glass, faceted and sparkling. Peter froze and his eyes went wide in shock, and Janos snorted. Erik seemed to forget he was driving for a moment, staring at her. She just pursed her lips and shifted back to human, fanning herself with her hands. "You know honey, that always happens. I can never control it when I get those headaches."  
Erik began apologising and fawning and generally assuring Emma that she was wonderful, and Peter turned back to Janos.  
"Is that what she does? Turn into diamond and then people pay to see her?"  
Janos hesitated. Peter was, after all, only a little kid. He wouldn't understand.  
-she dances-  
"What do you mean?"  
Janos looked uncomfortable.  
-she dances in diamond form with no clothes on-  
Peter nodded, then frowned. "Why?"  
Janos's eyes went wide and he waved his hands around in a gesture that could either be interpreted as 'I don't know' or 'I'm not telling you, you're eight'.  
Peter knew that look. It was the adult 'drop it' look. He changed the subject.  
"Are you Spanish?"  
Janos shook his head.  
-Mexican-  
"Oh."  
-I speak Spanish but my accent is awful-  
Peter didn't get it for a moment, and Janos gestured to his throat, reminding the boy that he couldn't talk, so his accent wouldn't matter. Peter laughed, and then continued his questioning.  
"How come you work for Miss Frost?"  
-my father said go work for that nice lady and she said she'd pay me ten dollars a week and food and bed and everything-  
"And does she?"  
Janos rolled his eyes and made a rude gesture at Emma's back.  
-what do you think? Of course not-  
"Why do you stick with her then? Why don't you just leave?"  
-how would I get home from here? I have no money-  
Peter frowned. "I don't know. My d-" He cut himself off sharply. "I mean, Erik's pretty smart. Maybe he'd know?"  
Janos chuckled.  
-he wouldn't want to help me. Don't worry about it kid-  
"Why wouldn't he want to help?"  
-hush-  
Peter huffed moodily. When adults reached a part in the conversation that they didn't like, they just stopped. It seemed more childish than him, and he - his mother had often said - was far too childish for someone who was all the way eight years old. That was practically grown up.  
They sat in silence until they reached a hotel, Peter scowling all the way. That hadn't made any money AT ALL that day, or even tried to. All Erik did was stare at that diamond lady with googly eyes and nod along as she talked in barely veiled terms about how tremendously super she was.  
"You know, darling," she said as they stopped outside a battered looking motel. "My previous... associate, Sebastian Shaw, was a pretty nasty guy. A real slimeball, if you know what I mean."  
-bloody insane- wrote Janos on his pad.  
-that man thought he was going to take over the world. Literally-  
"But the thing about Shaw was that he really had class. He certainly did have style, didn't he, Janos, honey?"  
Janos shrugged.  
"And that's the thing, sweetheart. I simply could not get a good night's rest in anything less than the best, Erik. Not after Sebastian treating me so nicely."  
It was almost as if there was a threat to her sugary words. Like a knife drenched in honey.  
Peter wasn't scared. The only thing she could possibly threaten was to leave, because if she tried anything violent then he and Erik would be ready for her.  
He leaned over and whispered a question (just loud enough for Erik to catch) in Janos's ear.  
Janos nodded solemnly and Peter smirked.  
Erik wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure it involved the phrase 'Did Emma and Shaw meet in a bar?'.  
"Of course, Emma," he said through gritted teeth. "This place isn't good enough for us anyway, let's go somewhere else, uh... honey."  
The endearment seemed alien in Erik's mouth, and it was obvious, but Emma smiled and hugged him.  
Erik started the car again and Peter narrowed his eyes, leaning over to the front to hiss at him.  
"Erik, you started out owing me two hundred dollars and now you owe me ninety eight dollars and seventy three cents-"  
Erik didn't miss a beat. "Seventy two."  
"Ninety eight dollars and seventy two cents. Don't forget."  
"Peter."  
"Yeah?"  
"I am going to pay you back. Sit down."  
Peter sighed. "Ok."

The next hotel they reached was in an infinitely better state. It looked expensive too.  
Emma spent the first couple of minutes ordering Janos around, not really paying much attention.  
"Don't you drop that again. It came all the way from Paris and you're far more replaceable than it is."  
Janos glared at her back and put the bags down, unfolding a note from his pocket and handing it to Peter.  
-I tried to push her out of a window once-

Peter refused to touch his food or speak to Erik the entire night, and keep on staring at Miss Frost as if he might be able to will her out of existence. Eventually Erik gave up trying, kissed Emma on the cheek (Peter stuck his tongue out, disgusted) and went to the room he was sharing with her to go to bed.  
Janos was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, playing solitaire and paying no attention to anyone.  
That just left Peter and Emma, sitting opposite each other at the table, Emma eating delicately and Peter with his arms crossed over his untouched food, glaring at her perfect face.  
"Alright, sweetie," she said after a minute or two of this, laying her fork down and folding her arms so that they were mirrored. "What did I do wrong?"  
Peter was startled into speech. "Huh?"  
Well, kind of speech.  
"You clearly hate me." Peter went red at the flatly spoken words. "And, much as Erik keeps insisting he isn't your father, it doesn't seem like you're missing your mother. Where is your mom?"  
Peter shook his head. "She died."  
"I'm sorry." Emma's words were emotionless, but it didn't seem like an act. Her smile, it seemed, was the facade, and the blank, intelligent look she wore now was her real face.  
"And Erik ain't my daddy. At least, he says he ain't."  
Emma cocked her head minutely to one side.  
"You're a handsome little boy, you know," she said slowly. "Bit grumpy, bit shaggy, but in a few years, girls'll be all over you."  
Peter didn't want girls to be all over him, but he didn't say anything.  
"I mean, you've already got bone structure. A person can have all the nice features they like and be ugly as hell if they don't have bone structure."  
All this was delivered in a cool, clinical tone.  
"You've got a nice jaw. Strong, I guess, like your dad's."  
Peter forgot to say that Erik wasn't his dad. Emma continued.  
"It took a long time for me to get this pretty, because I know I am, and it takes a lot of effort to keep it up." There began to be some emotion in her voice, almost like pleading. "I'm not trying to get between you and Erik. I'm not trying to replace anyone. I just wanted to go away from that fair, and I found a man who'd drive off with me. But I can never stay with anyone long. It never seems to work."  
She put a hand up to her temple to rub unconsciously at a migraine.  
"I know you don't like me, but if you wait and let Emma and her diamond breasts sit up in front for a while, I'll be gone, ok?"  
Peter cracked a smile at her and she exhaled, relieved.  
"Ok." she repeated. "Good."  
Emma stood up, back to her normal false self.  
"Oh, and sugar? Repeat a word of that to anyone and I'll kill you, understand?"  
Peter's face resumed its scowl and he nodded.  
She walked elegantly upstairs, clothes too tight for it to be anything but obvious how she lived.  
Peter's vocabulary did not, of yet, contain the word 'provocative', but he still felt as though he shouldn't be looking at Emma's back, and glanced back towards where Janos was sitting in the corner.  
Now, eight year olds are not known for their empathy and, as he suddenly remembered that not once in their conversation had Emma even acknowledged Janos's existence, Peter forgot any sympathy he might have had and began plotting.

For a change, Peter actually went to sleep, waking up very early in the morning. Emma and Erik were still asleep, presumably, and he had been instructed in no uncertain terms that if he went into their room he would die a painful death, so he wandered into the living area thingy. The solitaire game still laid out in front of him, Janos had fallen asleep on the sofa, snoring suspiciously loudly for someone who never really made a sound. Peter whizzed over to his side and poked him until he sighed and his mouth moved silently to form what were probably Spanish expletives.  
"Janos. Janos, wake up. Janos."  
At the kid's whispered words, the young man opened his eyes and quirked a curious, albeit grumpy, eyebrow.  
"I had an idea."  
Janos rolled his eyes sleepily and pointed at the clock. It was three in the morning.  
"Yeah, I know, but it's important to say it RIGHT NOW."  
Janos sat up, attentive, and Peter beamed. Finally, a grown-up who listened to him.  
"You know you said Emma never paid you or nothing?"  
He nodded slowly.  
"And you want to get home, but you've got no money?"  
Janos kept nodding.  
"Well, that's the thing." Peter's voice was excited. "Erik owes me money. Like, a lot of money. Two hundred dollars."  
Janos frowned, picked up a pen and fumbled around for something to write on. Finding nothing, he settled on the material of the couch.  
-how does a man like him owe a kid like you that much money?-  
Peter shrugged. "He tricked it out of this guy called 'Zazel or something-"  
Janos waved his hands around and cut him off.  
-Azazel? Red skin, black hair?-  
"Yeah, that's him!" Peter's brow furrowed in concentration. "How'd you know him though?"  
For a moment, Janos looked very, very sad.  
-Is a good friend of mine-  
"Well, Erik still owes me ninety eight dollars and seventy two cents. That means I got... I got more than a hundred dollars that are mine. I can give you some."  
Janos's eyes lit up, but he was still suspicious.  
-why would you? Erik will be mad. Safer not to-  
"Nah, he doesn't scare me." This was said in the defiant tone of voice of a confident eight year old. "All he does is shout, and that's not even because he's mad. That's just how he is. I don't think he'd hit me or anything."  
Peter smiled deviously.  
"I'll give you the money so we can get rid of Emma."

When Erik woke up, Peter was bouncing on the sofa, back in his dungarees, and Janos was sitting opposite him, stirring sugar into a coffee and very clearly nearly dropping off where he was. Erik shot him a sympathetic look.  
"Peter woke you up, then?"  
Janos shrugged wearily and drank the stuff, then pulled a face and looked disgustedly at it. He scribbled something on a scrap of newspaper and handed it to Peter, then pulled himself off the couch and walked out, closing the door gently behind him.  
"He says he's going looking for proper coffee and to tell him when Emma wakes up."  
Erik sat down next to where he was still stood on the cushions and put a joking hand on Peter's forehead, checking the boy's temperature.  
"Did you actually get some shut-eye tonight?"  
Peter nodded politely, sitting down. "Yup. Couple of hours." His tone turned teasing. "How about you?"  
"What?"  
"You and Emma," sing-songed the kid triumphantly. "Sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-"  
"Oh, shut up."

Janos, meanwhile, did not buy coffee. Even if the stuff upstairs was god-awful.  
He wandered over to the bar instead, and sat down next to a pretty young woman wearing... Well, not wearing much. She had long, straightened dark hair, and thick-lashed dark eyes.  
He pushed a note over to her.  
-hola-  
She smiled, amused, and drawled the greeting back. "Hola, baby. Too shy to say it out loud?"  
He shook his head and elaborated.  
-mute-  
"Oh, right."  
-I was wondering if you could do me a favour?-  
"Well," she said slowly, giving Janos bedroom eyes. "What kind of a favour?"  
He smirked. -not for me-  
Luckily for him, she just laughed. "Don't play for that team?"  
He raised and dropped a shoulder.  
-no actual sex needed, promise. I'm Janos by the way-  
"Angel."  
-?-  
"Angel's my name."  
He nodded.  
"So, what is it you want, oh silent and mysterious 'Janos'?" she continued, her tone only slightly mocking. "Little brother's first kiss type thing?"  
-Is a little more complicated-  
"Then explain."

Peter had practically pushed Erik out of the door, with a promise to alert him with his super-speed if Emma woke up, and also not to wake her up prematurely.  
And the second he was gone, Peter started packing. What with his habitual blurring into bullet-speed, it only took a second.  
"Emma!" he shouted through her door. "Miss Frost!"  
She tugged it moodily open, make-up and hair somehow perfect, which was disconcerting but - from Emma Frost - could only be expected.  
"Erik and Janos are downstairs," he explained sweetly. "We're getting ready to go."  
She blinked incredulously. "You're not serious. This early?"  
"It's half past ten in the morning." announced Peter primly, pronouncing every word individually to sound childish. She huffed moodily and went off to find some clothes, and he picked up as many bags as he could, speeding downstairs to hand Janos his.  
"Come on!" he yelled through the door at Emma's (in fairness, normal speed, he was just going too quickly) slow getting-dressed. "We gotta go before..." He let the sentence trail off limply and she opened the door, brow furrowed elegantly in question.  
"Before what?"  
"Nothing, doesn't matter. He's at the bar. Janos too."  
Carrying ninety percent of their stuff, Peter led her down the stairs, giving a slight nod to Janos as he did, who stood up, 'tripped' and 'accidentally' sent Angel careening into a confused Erik.  
It was perfectly timed. The very moment Emma came into view of the scene, Erik had a blushing girl pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her body to steady her. Angel was smart: she held the position far longer than necessary.  
Emma's eyebrows shot up, but her self-control was still pretty good, and no rage or shock showed on her face. Instead, she sent out a sharp telepathic tendril into the girl's mind. Angel was, however, prepared for this (Janos having warned her), and pushed images of her and Erik kissing to the front of her mind.  
Emma's entire body went tense with hatred and she grabbed her bags off of Peter, storming past the now apologising Erik and shouting for Janos to follow her. He made no move to do so, simply smiling at the thought of not working for her anymore and holding out some of the money Peter had given him for Angel. She laughed and shook her head.  
"It's ok, babe, that was far too funny. She was a bitch, right?"  
Janos nodded fervently.  
"Then keep your money." She went lightly back up to her room, tossing a 'Good luck!' to Janos over her shoulder.  
Erik ran outside.  
"Emma, wait!" There was no reply and Peter, sitting on his suitcase in the bar, heard him curse under his breath. "Goddammit!"  
Peter suddenly felt nervous. The plan had worked, of course, and Miss Emma Frost was no longer a problem and they could go back to scamming people again... But Erik might be mad. Really, really mad.  
When he walked back in, though, he just looked sad and tired.  
"Was that you, kid?" he murmured. "Did you do that on purpose, Pietro?"  
Uh oh. Proper name.  
Peter didn't answer, staring at the floor.  
"She was mean." he whispered eventually, and Erik wasn't mad. Somehow.  
He went over and sat on the suitcase next to him wearily, ruffling his silvery hair.  
"Yeah." he sighed. "Yeah, she was pretty awful."

The next day was spent with Erik still being sad, and Peter being kind of sorry, even though he had spent all the time Emma was in the car wanting to murder her. He sat in the front again, which Erik ignored.  
The drove like that in silence for about an hour, at which point the strangest thing broke their tension.  
It must have rained the night before, because today there were puddles on the side of the road, and if Erik drove through them the water sprayed up in a rainbow arch and made Peter whoop and laugh.  
Along the road, though, there was a dusty and exhausted-looking man walking, dragging a rather huge (and wheel-less) suitcase behind him.  
Unfortunately, Erik and Peter didn't see him until they'd driven through the puddle he was currently edging his way around, and absolutely soaked him. The man gasped, dropping the case in the water, and Peter had to contain a guilty giggle as they sped past, but then he sighed and sat down by the road, knees to his chest, as though hopeless.  
Erik glanced behind them and frowned, but didn't slow down. Peter scrambled around in his seat and grabbed his arm. "Why aren't you stopping?"  
"What?"  
"That man, he's unhappy and he's walking. We've got enough room."  
Erik stopped the car and stared at the boy.  
"You've got to be kidding. You scheme and conspire to get rid of Miss Frost, and then an hour later you're all to happy to give a complete stranger - who might be an axe murderer, by the way - a lift."  
"I didn't know you either," responded Peter sharply. "For all I know YOU might be an axe murderer."  
"I'm not, though."  
"You're a conman."  
"And you're evil. Go on, then."  
Erik started reversing towards the man, and Peter cheered happily.  
They pulled up, but the guy didn't look at them or move.  
"Sorry about that," said Erik unconvincingly. "I didn't see you there. Do you want a lift somewhere?"  
"I'm alright, thank you." responded the man, with just as much conviction, in a soft British accent.  
"Okey dokey." replied Erik, delighted at not having to share his car again, but Peter whacked him.  
"No you're not alright. You're sad and now you're wet. We're not axe murderers, so it's ok if you want a lift."  
The man looked at him in surprise and then smiled, standing up. "Well, I certainly am soggy," He ignored the 'sad' part. "And... Well, if you promise you're not axe murderers-"  
"Don't." cut Erik, gesturing for the man to climb into the back. "In the last three minutes, Peter seems to have developed a morbid fascination with axe murderers. I'm Erik Lehnsherr."  
"Charles Xavier," responded the man as he hefted his trunk into the boot and opened the door. He had wavy, scraggly brown hair, framing forget-me-not blue eyes and a pair of red lips, but his clothes had clearly seen better days, however nice they might have been to start off with.  
"I'm Peter." added the kid helpfully, turning to solemnly shake his hand. The man, Charles, chuckled. "Nice to meet you. So, Peter, what do you and your dad-"  
Erik said 'He's not my son' at precisely the same time that Peter said 'He ain't my daddy' and for a moment they glared at each other.  
"Uh, sorry..." said Charles, concerned, and Erik brushed it off. "It's a commonly made mistake. I'm supposed to taking him to his aunt, see, but he stuck with me."  
"I'm hard to get rid of." murmured Peter in agreement. "S'not like he likes me or anything."  
"Damn right I don't."  
Erik sighed and conceded an answer to Charles. "We sell bibles."  
He didn't even notice that he'd said it in the plural.  
"Overly religious?" asked Charles lightly, and Erik grimaced and shook his head. "Not really. Luckily for us though, other people are."  
"It's good you aren't, Erik," breathed Peter softly, so Charles could barely hear. "Lying is a sin."  
"In that case," muttered Erik back, through gritted teeth. "We're both going to hell."  
"I am a poor little orphan and I have been corrupted by a devious trickster."  
Erik glanced at him incredulously. "You're incorrigible."  
Peter took a deep breath and looked over to Charles. "What about you? Are you very clever?"  
"Um, well, uh... yes. I'm a professor," spluttered Charles. "But I fail to see how you guessed that?"  
"You're English. You've got to be clever. So, what does 'incorrigible' mean?"  
Charles visibly repressed a smile, rubbing his nose to hide it.  
"Well, I'm actually an expert in genetics, so verbiage isn't exactly my strong point,"  
At the mention of genetics, Erik tensed slightly. 'The study of genetics' was, as far as he was concerned, code for 'Experiments on mutants', and, while he was one too, it was really quite obvious that Peter was a mutant. He was hardly shy about his abilities, and his hair was so obviously preternatural.  
"But," Charles was saying. "I do know that 'incorrigible' means 'incurable'."  
Peter's little brows furrowed. "Oh." He looked carefully at Erik. "Was that an insult, then?"  
Erik scoffed. "If I wanted to insult you, I'd say something about your stupid dungarees."  
Peter spun back around so he was facing Charles.  
"You said you were a professor?"  
"Yes."  
"What do you do when you're a professor, then?"  
"Well, I give talks about people and their mutant gifts."  
Peter wasn't stupid. He looked carefully at Erik and then asked again. "What do you talk about? Cures?"  
"No, certainly not! Mutation isn't a disease, it can't just- uh. No." Charles had seemed on the very verge of some rant or another, but cut himself off with a cough.  
"I just try to work out how they work and how our bodies adapt to them."  
"Through what?" said Erik, trying to keep his voice at 'conversational' and not 'threatening'. "Dissection?"  
"No! Through asking them and comparing blood samples with other samples and- I don't know what experience you've had, my friend, but I assure you that my study is perfectly legal and safe and with the permission of the people involved."  
Erik blinked slightly. "...ok."  
Charles went bright red. "Sorry about that. It's very important to me, you understand." He hesitated before continuing, well-aware of some people's attitudes towards mutants. "I'm a telepath, you understand, and I've been a, uh, victim of more... unsavoury 'experiments' in the past, so I wouldn't like anyone to think that I-"  
Erik nodded friendlily as he spoke, relieved.  
"I'm a metalbender," he said frankly, by way of further introduction. "And Peter here can-"  
"Run really fast!" yelled Peter, bouncing up as down excitedly in his seat. Erik put a hand around his shoulders and held him down, and Charles chuckled.  
"So," Erik continued jokingly. "What is a professor of genetics doing out here in the desert?"  
The young man ran a hand through his (already messy) hair and bit his lip, his smile fading.  
"I'm looking for my sister. Well, I was, but I found her and she doesn't really want to talk to me, so I guess I'm just wandering around."  
Peter, whose already fragile interest in the conversation had waned, was looking at the newspaper that Erik had brought from the hotel.  
He jabbed a finger at a particular obituary, holding it up so that Erik could read it.  
'Armando 'Darwin' Muñoz, age twenty-three. Mourned by his housemate, Alex Summers.'  
Erik winced and shook his head. "All boys. They wouldn't buy it."  
"How about a 'Summers family bible'?"  
He paused, then shook his head again. "Much as I admire your 'sneaky little shit'ishness, Peter, no."  
"You just distract him and I'll-"  
"Shh."  
Peter inhaled deeply, insistent. "We didn't make any money at all when Emma was there, and then I gave Janos fifty dollars so he-"  
"You did WHAT?!"  
"So he didn't have to work for her! Come on, she was a bitch-"  
"Don't swear!"  
"You do it!"  
Erik wagged a helpless finger at him, with the kind of expression that said he'd rather be strangling the kid, then gripped the steering wheel with gritty stoicism.  
"I refuse to be a role model."  
Peter snorted, leaning back almost obnoxiously in his seat. "You ain't my role model, old man."  
"Good. And I'm not old."  
"Of course, if you were my daddy then that'd be different-"  
"I'm not your dad. Quit asking."  
"Fine."  
"Fine."  
Peter looked up at him, almost apologetically. "We do need to make some money, Erik."  
"Alright," he conceded reluctantly, then bumped Peter's shoulder. "You know, if you put that evil genius of yours to other purposes, you could probably make more money than you would doing this. Just give it a few years."  
Peter beamed, and then glanced down at the newspaper again, business-like.  
"They live near here. And I think it's a hotel."  
"We'll stay there then. Charles, you ok with that?"  
"I'll do whatever." responded the telepath, with false cheer. "I'm waiting to receive a telegram from an associate, so I'm probably just going to wonder around until that happens."  
Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Erik was suddenly struck by how attractive the way he bit his red lips was, the definition of his arms and...  
"You're free to come with us."  
Peter stared up at Erik, eyes wide. "He IS?"  
"I'm being friendly, kid, shut up."  
"You ARE?!"  
"I said shut up."

*

The place they came too was definitely the correct one. For a start, there was a slightly wonky sign over the door, reading 'SUMMERS FAMILY MOTEL', and secondly, there was a photo of a smiling young man outside, surrounded by dying flowers. Charles raised a hand to knock on the door, but it was answered pre-emptively by a blonde man in a dirty vest, scowling.  
"What do you want?" he asked in a tired, surprisingly deep voice.  
"My name is Erik Magnus," said Erik brightly, extending a hand, which the young man ignored. "I work for the Kansas bible company-"  
"Me and God have had a little falling out." choked the guy numbly, glancing over at the photo and the flowers. "Take your business somewhere else."  
Erik shoved a foot in the door and used his spare hand to push Peter into the man's vision.  
"Just because we peddle the goods, doesn't mean we put any particular stock in their beliefs. We're just looking for some rooms."  
The man sighed. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. I'm Alex Summers, by the way, owner of this FINE establishment."  
He led them through and pointed towards the end of a corridor. "Rooms are down there. You can use TWO of them - and only two - and pay in the morning. You don't pay, I set you on fire."  
Erik and Charles exchanged a nervous glance, but Peter grinned. He looked up at Erik mischievously.  
"Why didn't we take Emma here?"  
"Hush, you."  
Alex said something vague about alcohol, and needing some, and disappeared.  
"There are two rooms," said Peter quickly. "So you two can share one and I'll take the other."  
"No." said Erik firmly, at the same time as Charles saying "Um, Peter, that's not quite how it works."  
"Don't be silly! Of COURSE it is." The boy's eyes narrowed. "Unless you were, I dunno, my daddy or somethi-"  
"For the millionth time, I am not your-"  
"Exactly, so I should get a room."  
There was a silvery blur and the door to the smaller room (at least he had the good grace not to take the big one, thought Erik dryly) banged open and shut a few times as Peter ran through it, unloading all his stuff.  
Charles walked up and amicably knocked on the door, in a manner that suggested he had even less experience with children than Erik.  
"Listen, I am afraid you are being quite-"  
"Goodnight!" yelled Peter, and left it at that. Erik shrugged wearily and opened the door to the other room.  
"Trust me, there's little point in fighting it. Once that boy gets an idea into his head, that's it."  
Charles nodded resignedly and followed him.

The night was spent lying awkwardly on the twin single beds - the owner of this place might be a drunk, but he kept it neat - and listening to Peter bouncing on the bed next door and giggling, until he finally collapsed and started snoring softly at around midnight.  
Erik rolled his eyes. "At least that's over," he murmured sleepily.  
"He does that, then?" asked Charles.  
"Yes." grumbled Erik, waking up a little more. "He does it all the time. Claims that his ability keeps him awake."  
"How long have you been together?"  
"About a week, maybe two."  
"Jesus."  
"Yeah. I was supposed to be dropping him at a train station, but I can't get rid of him."  
"You meant that seriously?"  
Erik nodded. "It feels like longer than that. He's... I don't know."  
"He is your son," whispered Charles. "Isn't he?"  
Erik sat up, and Charles could feel more than see eyes glaring at him through the dark.  
"Keep out of my head," he hissed vehemently, and Charles shook his head frantically in answer.  
"I'm not in your head, I swear. It's kind of obvious."  
Erik relaxed a little and Charles coughed guiltily. "Um, well, either that or you're projecting. Your thoughts, I mean."  
"It wasn't deliberate." said Erik quietly, in the tone of a desperate confession. "I didn't know he existed. I really should have, I know. His mother..."  
Erik stopped being able to speak out loud, lay back down, and Charles put a hand to his temple.  
"I could have a... look," he offered shyly. "If you wouldn't mind."  
"There are inappropriate images in there." warned Erik. "Ones connected with her name."  
"If I'm going too far, my friend, just close a door in my face. Block me out."  
Without ceremony - he did this all the time, permission or no - Charles dove in.

*'Magda Maximoff' whispered Erik's mind, almost reverently, and with it came the last words he had said to her, 'You talk your way into heaven on my behalf, liebling', and that summed her up. When they were children, playing together, Erik'd get in trouble for all the things she did. At first, at least. Soon enough their parents worked it out, but they never punished her. She was clever like that.  
'I should have realised, really,' mused Erik. 'Magda never did anything without purpose. Peter must have been planned, and I bet him being mine was planned too. Lord, she was clever'.  
They met in a bar, that was true. But it wasn't the first time they had met. Magda had been so pretty, laughing so lightly and dancing- she was such a good dancer. And then*  
A door slammed in Charles's face.  
*'I don't know why she wanted Peter. Maybe she was lonely, maybe it was just for her scams. No, I don't believe that. She wasn't heartless. He did help with them, though, by the look of it. He's smart, just like she used to be. More than smart, that boy is freaking evil.'*  
Withdrawing from Erik's mind, Charles forced himself to keep a straight face.  
"That is certainly one interesting way to sell bibles."  
Erik hesitated a moment before laughing. And then Charles laughed too.

"Wake up!" yelled Peter, through the wall. "Come on, guys, please wake up! The guy who's in charge left breakfast out on the table an' now he's doing something else so there's like tons of food and-"  
Erik opened the door irritably, and Peter grinned up at him. "C'mon!"  
"It is very early." deadpanned Erik. "Erik will not be here for another two hours."  
Peter darted inside just as Erik slammed the door, and ended up sitting on Charles's bed, ignoring the way that the young professor curled into a ball and groaned sleepily.  
"It's seven o'clock in the morning!" yelled Peter. "And anyway, I think Mr. Summers is up to something."  
That caught Erik's attention. "What?"  
"He slammed the stuff down and ran off. Almost as fast as ME!"  
Charles sat up and exchanged a curious glance with Erik. "Did he really, Peter?"  
"Uh huh. And," the little boy continued deviously. "He's awful drunk, ain't he?"  
Charles put two fingers to his temple, and gave a little incredulous laugh.  
"Oh my god, he's right. That man, Alex Summers, is brewing illegal whiskey. Can you get it?"  
The last sentence was very clearly directed at Erik, and both he and Peter blinked in surprise.  
"What?" frowned Charles. "I mean, is there any metal in the whiskey bottles, and could you lift it?"  
"You don't have a problem with...?"  
Charles inclined his head sarcastically. "Please, Erik. I'm a telepath. I knew what you were doing from the start."  
The taller man shrugged. "Fantastic. And, um, no, there's no metal that I can sense."  
Charles smiled sheepishly. "I can distract him. Peter can get the drink."  
"Wait, why do we want it?" cut Peter curiously. The two adults fixed him with twin raised eyebrows.  
"So we can sell it back to him, silly."  
"Oh. Ok!"  
Peter caught hold of Charles's hand and pulled him (still fast, but thankfully at a vaguely normal human speed) over to the room that the owner had left breakfast in, and pointed to a little door behind it.  
"If it smells like a distillery," he chimed cheerfully. "And it looks like a distillery-"  
"Then it's probably a distillery?" finished Charles, and then knocked politely on the door.  
"Fuck off!" came the muffled shout from inside. A small crease appeared between Charles's eyes.  
"Well, that's not very polite. Excuse me!"  
There was more muffled cursing, some crashes and a stomped footstep, and then the door was pulled open. Charles simply blinked and the man froze in place.  
Peter, needing no further prompting, rushed forward and in the space of about two seconds, had emptied the place. He smiled and stuck his thumbs up, and Charles unfroze Alex and walked off, leaving a blurry memory of an alcohol-fuelled conversation in his mind.

The three of them piled into Erik's car, Peter giggling and Charles trying not to as Erik rolled his eyes at them.  
"Drive, drive." said Charles frantically, still smiling. "Mr. Summers just realised that a few seconds ago there was whiskey in his room and now there isn't."  
"You are a devious pretender." swore Erik, shaking his head. "A devious, pretending, wonderful, British, silly little man. You know that, right?"  
"Drive!" laughed Charles. "And what are you talking about?"  
"You and your 'Oh, I'm so British, I'm so innocent, also a professor-"  
"I never pretended anything like that!"  
"Please, Charles, you're a telepath. You knew exactly what you were projecting."  
"I did not."  
"Scheißdreck."  
"Was that a swear?" asked Peter's childish voice from the back. The two grown men glanced at each other with wide eyes, and said 'No' at exactly the same time, with the same protesting, guilty innocence.  
They could feel Peter's eyes narrow in suspicion from there, without even turning around, and somewhere on the back of Erik's mind, he wondered why the kid had just sat in the back and not said anything in protest.  
"Then can I say it?"  
"No." replied Charles quickly. Erik breathed out quickly through his nose.  
"Gott in Himmel, Sie mich an deutsche reduziert haben. Das Paar von euch."  
"Erik, I know I keep telling you to drive faster, but you really should. There are cops behind us."  
Erik glanced behind them and swore again.  
"English, now." remarked Charles, and Peter bounced up and down cheerfully.  
"I know that one!"  
"Peter, shut up!" cried Erik in frustration. "Stolen or not, if we're caught with-"  
"You shut up, stupid-head. I hid it already."  
The adults breathed a sigh of relief and Erik slowed down, indicated and pulled over.  
"Anything mean I have ever said to you," he said softly to Peter as the cops stopped behind them and got out. "I take it back, you're a genius."  
"Shut up, Dad, I know that."  
"I ain't your dad." It wasn't with as much conviction as usual, and even little Peter could pick that up.  
"Just checking." he said brightly, just as quietly.  
The brown haired, sunglasses-wearing young man who had been driving the police car knocked irritably on the window, and Erik rolled it down.  
"Do you want something, Officer?"  
"Where's the whiskey?" he asked, straight out. Charles turned around and looked quickly at Peter, sending a thought his way.  
'Look innocent, please. This is bad'.  
Peter's face scrunched up as he thought back. 'Gotcha, boss'.  
"I'm sure I don't know what-"  
"Don't give me that. Alex called me, I know what you took. Or what HE took, anyway."  
At the 'HE' he turned and gestured to a pale-faced Charles.  
"Let me explain," continued the cop icily. "My name is Scott Summers. I believe you've met my brother."  
The three occupants of the car stopped moving, barely breathing.  
"Scheißdreck." mumbled Peter.

Frustrated and unable to find the drink - wherever Peter had managed to jump out a moving vehicle, run off and hide them, it was hard to put a pin on, and he must have done it multiple times, there was no way he could carry twelve bottles at once - Officer Summers had locked them up, taking them to different cells. As he did, Charles grabbed his arm.  
"Whoa, what are you doing, my friend? Peter is eight years old, you can't-"  
Peter, genuinely nervous for once, stared up at the policeman with wide, dark eyes.  
The man took a deep breath, almost... guilty?  
"You can't tell me you're his father." he said, staring at Charles pointedly.  
"No, no. I'm a, uh, a friend of the family."  
Scott Summers sighed. "What family?"  
"You... You don't see the resemblance? Um, Peter, could you possibly stand next to Erik for a moment? Please?"  
The kid squirmed out from the loose, adult grip on his arm, and sped over to Erik. Not at super speed. However understanding - if a BIG JERK - Scott Summers had been, people didn't like mutants.  
"Daddy, daddy, daddy." he chirped anxiously, highly.  
Erik put a hand on his shoulder, pulling the kid towards him.  
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" said Erik, out of the corner of his mouth.  
"Whatever you just said," Peter murmured back. "Nope."  
"See?" Charles was saying. "Look at them. You can't tell me they're not related."  
Summers hesitated and Erik knew he had to say something. It came out slow and hesitant.  
"We've got the same jaw."  
Peter blanched and his (similarly shaped to Erik's) jaw dropped open.  
His thoughts, however, were quickly invaded by Charles, reaching up to subtly massage his head as though plagued by a headache.  
'You've got it safe, right?'  
Peter nodded slightly, and grit his teeth as he sent back, 'And I got the money too'.  
Mind filled with Peter-sized images of a lunchbox and Erik keeping all the money he owed Peter in it, Charles nodded back.  
'Where have you got it?'  
A smile tugged at the corners of the little boy's mouth.  
'I hid it in my hair'.  
Charles broadcast the thought to Erik, who blinked, smiled sharkishly at the guard and was led - along with his son - into the cell.  
"You can stay here for the night," called Scott Summer's voice. "And then in the morning you can tell me where you've hidden it."

The room was small and whitewashed and contained only one bed and, since Erik was not making the mistake of letting Peter just bloody bounce on it all night again, he sat down heavily on it and pulled off the fedora he'd been wearing, wiping nervous sweat from underneath it.  
"Thank god for Charles's quick talking." he said, almost to himself, and Peter sat down opposite him on the floor and shrugged.  
"I did some of the work."  
"Yeah, you two are the heroes of the piece. And thank god for your ridiculous hair as well; at least it serves some purpose. Was that your mother's idea?"  
Peter's fists clenched in the way they did when he was determined. "You ARE my daddy, aintcha?"  
The older man stretched out on the bed and put his hat over his face.  
"I am not."  
"You are too."  
Erik breathed slowly, like he was asleep, but he wasn't and he didn't reply, so Peter took it as a personal victory, suppressing a goofy little grin.  
"I know you're not going to want to," came Erik's muffled voice, out from under the hat. "But get some sleep, kid. We're going to get up very early tomorrow, and I'm going to bend the metal bars, and then we're going to run."  
"Run where?"  
"Doesn't matter."  
"I'll stay up all night," reasoned Peter out loud. "And then wake you up early."  
"If you insist. But don't you go getting cranky on me."  
"I won't. Goodnight, Erik."  
"Night, Peter."

Charles woke up far too early, roused from sleep by a small rasping sound, like metal against metal. He winced against the light of the tacky, bare electric bulb that hung by a string from the ceiling, and then suddenly realised who exactly he knew that could manipulate metal, and what they must be doing.  
At that thought, he jumped to his feet and hurried over to the wall that separated the three of them.  
"Erik," he barked under his breath. "Erik, what are you doing?"  
"Getting out, what do you think?" It was Peter's voice, and Charles couldn't help smiling.  
"You're going to get me out too, right?"  
"'Course we are!"  
Charles heard a clang, and then a slight crash.  
"Yes! Coming, Charles."  
He realised later that Peter must have climbed out of the window, sped in through the front door, stolen the keys from the guard's belt and opened the door, but right then it only felt like a few seconds before the door swung free and the kid was standing there.  
"Nice one," grinned Charles, hurriedly shrugging on his coat and stepping out of the cell.  
"We have to get out of the state." announced Erik, already wearing his hat and everything. "These guys can't do anything out of their own jurisdiction."  
"Forget about the drink?"  
"Yeah, forget about the drink."  
A policeman appeared at the other side of the corridor, noticed them, and turned and run.  
"Ok, ok. Let's go."

*

"Faster, faster, faster!"  
"Shut up, I'm driving as fast as I can!"  
"Why don't you let me drive?"  
"Charles, we haven't exactly got enough time to-"  
"Turn right!"  
"That's not a turning, that's a ditch!"

Their conversation, as they drove, went mostly along these lines.

"I'm going to turn around."  
"What?!"  
"I'm gonna make a U-ey!"  
"Sorry, what?"  
"A donut turn!"  
"An... Arrrgh, one of these things!"  
"Peter, hold on to that money!"  
"If we lose it, we're broke, I know!"  
"You two please, please stop bickering! They're catching up."  
"Crap!"  
"Shit!"  
"Don't swear!"  
"You do it!"  
"I ain't your role model!"  
"You're my daddy, of course you're my role model!"  
"I ain't your daddy!"  
"You are too!" screamed Charles and Peter both at once.  
"There's the bridge. We're over it and we're safe."  
"Then bloody cross it, Erik!"

The night was spent in another motel, where Charles and Erik were still too nervy and hyped up to sleep and Peter was so nervy and exhausted that he collapsed and went straight to sleep. Before he did, he had handed the roll of notes to Erik.  
"What's that for?" the older man had asked, bemused.  
"You're a grown-up." Peter replied, matter-of-factly. "And that's money. And there's a bar."  
"Very astute of you, kid."  
He rubbed Peter's head and did as the kid suggested, taking Charles by the arm and walking out of the place.  
"Where are we going?" Charles stammered, concerned.  
"Alcohol. We lost the whiskey."  
"Ah, right. Good idea."  
"You know that turned out surprisingly well, considering-"  
They both stopped dead in the dark street, staring at the men who had just appeared at the other end. They were Alex and Scott Summers.  
They were both smiling sinisterly.

By the time that the two of them limped back into their motel, they were both bloody and bruised. Charles very nearly had a broken wrist and Erik didn't want to think about the source of the blood that was running down his face.  
You see, unable to arrest them - one of the brothers not even a cop - Alex and Scott had just attacked them, taken the money, and left them, beaten and broke.  
When he saw them, Peter gasped.  
"Are you ok?"  
"None of your business," sighed Charles, too hurt to be polite.  
"Erik," whined Peter. "Erik, what HAPPENED?"  
"Shut up!" yelled Erik, whirling angrily on the kid. "Just shut up!"  
"What did you do?!" He was nearly crying. "I don't understand!"  
"Stealing fucking whiskey from a cop's brother! Who's dumb idea was that? Probably mine, since I never seem to be able to keep these dumb schemes afloat. Dammit! Why in the fuck did I think it was a good idea to travel around with a kid, of all things?!"  
Peter had backed up against the wall, hands fisted in the material of his dungarees, glaring stoically at Erik through the visible sheen on tears. Charles was sitting on the bed, looking at the floor. Erik stared back for a moment, then laughed breathlessly, without amusement, and collapsed into an armchair, trying not to cringe as his bruises collided with the material.  
"I can't look after a kid! Look at me! Gott, I can't even travel around with you, Charles. You're as beat up as I am. I just ruin everything."  
He glanced up at Peter. "Where did you say your aunt lives?"  
For a moment, he was frozen. And then he snapped out of it. "What?! You can't-"  
"Peter." His voice was weary again. "Where does your aunt live?"

They dropped Charles at a bus stop, with enough money to get him to an airport. What he did thereafter, Erik decided, was not their problem.  
He had driven through the night, and by the time he stopped outside the porch of a battered but well-taken-care-of house, Peter had seemingly given up any hope of him changing his mind.  
Seemingly.  
He slammed the door open and marched out, pulling his lunchbox behind him. "That it?" he shouted, angry. "You just gonna tell me to go?"  
"Yes." replied Erik calmly, through gritted teeth. "That's it."  
"She's got GIRLS." said Peter, over the knot in his throat.  
"They're not an infection."  
"She's got two daughters and her husband died and I'm gonna be the only boy!"  
"I can't look after you, and she can."  
Almost heartlessly, Erik pressed his foot down and drove away, and left him there.

The boy stood by his aunt's door, wanting to run away. He always ran away from what made him sad, but there was nowhere to run to. He didn't cry, or stamp his foot. He was going to have to live with these people after all, and both his parents had taught him how valuable lying could be.  
He raised a little hand and knocked on the door, with only the slightest hesitation. He moved so quickly that no one else could possibly have detected it.  
A middle-aged woman with brown hair opened it, looking only slightly flustered. For a moment she blinked, looking ahead, and then happened to notice Peter, who stood considerably below her eye line.  
"I'm Peter." he said, brushing his long hair out of his face, self-conscious and aware that she might mistake him for a girl.  
"Peter Maximoff."  
"Oh my god!" She crouched down and looked him in the eyes. Her's were hazel, not unusually dark like his.  
"I didn't think you were going to turn up, darling. We got the telegrams you sent us, and then nothing!"  
Peter opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, she was talking again.  
"Well, you're here now, and that's what matters. Come in, come in. Magda sent me a couple of letters, but only a couple, I hardly know anything about you!"  
Peter followed her into the hall, noting a little girl with a red paper hat that was sitting on the ceiling and giggling, while a green-haired girl made the cutlery float in the kitchen. At least this lady wouldn't have a problem with him being a mutant, he mused.  
She practically sat him at the table herself, and then fussed off to find some cookies. She seemed nice, and the girls would be sufferable. When he looked around himself, he could see finger-paintings pinned to the fridge, and dolls seated on the countertop. It was homely and welcoming.

He grabbed his lunchbox and ran.

*

Erik had driven a couple of miles out of the way, parked by an empty roadside, and sat there smoking a cigarette out of the window. He hated cigarettes, true, but he really needed it. As he glanced at nothing, he happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the wing-mirror - all split lip and black eye - and winced, turning his gaze somewhere else.  
And then something else in the mirror attracted his eye. A silver blur, moving at great speed.  
He cursed and got out.  
"Peter, what are you doing?!"  
The boy stopped and grinned breathlessly at him.  
"I told you I don't want you travelling with me!"  
His smile faded and his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms.  
"You still owe me two hundred dollars."  
The words were spoken softly, but there were steely and hard too. For a moment Erik stared at him in disbelief, and then tore his hat from his head and threw it on the ground in frustration, total and absolute.  
And then he laughed, still tired and mad, but laughing nonetheless.  
"Get in the car, you little shit." His words were angry, but not that much, and Peter did as he was told.  
"We left Charles over by Midtown," he said, pulling the map out of the side. "So we could veer off to Jamesville and then round again."  
"Then veer to Ossett."  
"And just keep veering."  
"Yeah."  
Their car, only slightly dirty and worse for wear from their previous misadventure, drove off down the dusty hill and disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Not all of this is based off the movie! Charles's character never existed, for example, and Janos's character was a little girl.  
> If their speech patterns are odd, it's because half of it's copied from the movie and half of it isn't.


End file.
